


Void

by multifandom_stay



Series: The sun is still shining behind those dark clouds [1]
Category: K-pop, Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Bullying, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internal Conflict, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24249016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifandom_stay/pseuds/multifandom_stay
Summary: "I'm stuck at this point. I don't truly know what I'm doing, but I'm barely surviving. And somehow even after everything, I can't let him go." - Han Jisung"What do you mean you can't help? This is my best friend!" - Lee Felix"I know its worse than with me. His smile is fake, his eyes dead. I don't think even he knows himself anymore." - Yang Jeongin"The funniest thing is, you think that I'm giving you a choice. Don't mess with my friend's business. Period." - Hwang Hyunjin"You don't get to tell me what to do. You don't have any right to. I do what I want and nobody can tell me otherwise." - Lee Minho...Or where Han Jisung can't pull himself out of the void of empty thoughts and mystery although everything in his life keeps spiralling downwards.*Also posted on Wattpad under rara_stays_for_skz*
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Series: The sun is still shining behind those dark clouds [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1750354
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I hope you enjoy reading this. I will be updating every Monday, hopefully.   
> \- Rara

Han Jisung sat on the concrete flooring of the outdoor basketball court with his purple earphones plugged in as he stared blankly at his phone. The screen was an unresponsive black, no sound emitting from the device through the headphones; the only sound to the boy being the muffled, almost distant, rustle of the wind, as it brushed his hair across his forehead in a static mess.

To others who may have been around, perhaps he looked deep in thought; this was, however, the contrary. His mind seemed empty. It _was_ empty. He couldn't think of anything, infuriatingly, yet he was not infuriated. He just felt empty. Full with the absence and feeling of emptiness; much like the strong pangs of hunger within one's stomach. He wondered if this was normal, at times. Perhaps he should have been thinking about the events of his day, or something, _anything_. Though, at that moment, it appeared entirely impossible.

Sighing, he lifted himself off the ground, clutching his phone in his hand as he stretched his arms upwards. His gaze flickered back towards the school building. Officially, school had ended an hour ago, however, the building itself would still remain open for another two hours due to the extended activities that numerous students committed to. He tilted his phone screen, watching the time that appeared on its surface. Maybe a music room would be free, he pondered. He knew it would be much better than doing nothing, for home would be an empty place, and the unproductiveness of his behaviour was of no help to anybody, much less himself.

Yet, he was still afraid. The basketball team had not yet left the building. It wasn't that he was afraid of the team, but rather an individual who waited for a team member. Hwang Hyunjin would be at his basketball practice, while Lee Minho would wait and linger for another chat, for the two were friends. _Lee Minho_. That's who he was afraid of. Not the most, but definitely one of those who he would wish to avoid at all costs. Though, he knew he wasn't the only one who suffered beneath the older male's habits.

After little contemplation, he decided to risk it. He was sure he could sneak around the school without anyone noticing. He was _Han Jisung_ for heaven's sake! His speciality was blending in with the walls and becoming a ghost, though the downside was that when people wanted to see him, they did. Unfortunately for Jisung, few wanted to see him for reasons that were _good_. Rather, they held the intention of seeking out trouble (which Jisung proved to be a magnet for) equating to one answer: bullying. In short, there was no denying it, the bullying problem of their school was atrocious, though the teachers merely chose to turn a blind eye; they each had their own dramas and problems that held priority over a simple student's complaints. And either way, in the face of money and faux charm, ignorance was a simple task.

He walked slowly, pulling his headphones out and winding them loosely around his phone before shoving them down his trouser pocket. He adjusted his bag, uniform jacket and shirt, in an attempt to appear more presentable and less scruffy, running a hand through his slightly long hair (it wasn't _long_ , though it was certainly longer and floppier than the hair of the majority of the other boys in his school).

The hallways were eerily silent, his footsteps echoing monotonously through the tiled hallways, and he smiled half-heartedly at a student who was leaving, presumably from the library if the stack of books were anything to go by. His fingers fiddled with the end of his tie, twisting and folding the material absentmindedly.

As he walked down the hall of music rooms, he froze. Somebody was singing. Their voice was as smooth as honey, elegant, yet dripping with poise in every word, as though the rhythm held more meaning than the lyrics. Almost immediately, he turned on his heel and made his way to his locker. He leant against it sighing. He knew who the singer was - the one person he wanted to avoid - Lee Minho. He remembered how the older had reacted upon Jisung finding out. How he had beat the younger up till he could barely walk, then dragged his weak body to the parking lot by his feet and left him lying there for someone to find as his heavy eyes betrayed him. At that moment, he'd been empty of all energy required to move, yet, the next day, he had still worn a big smile and goofy facade to fool the world. Like always.

He mentally cursed. Luck was definitely still against him, as it almost always was, for he heard the rowdy noise of loud voices and feet. His head snapped to quickly gaze at the door to the boys' changing room, which was, unfortunately, a mere few steps down the hall from his locker. The basketball team were almost ready to leave. And if they caught sight of Han Jisung, he was a dead man walking. They would rip him to shreds like a pack of rabid dogs, as they foamed at the mouth, spitting insults until they lost their breath. Where Lee Minho was crazily impulsive with little logic, they were calculating and dangerous, knowing exactly who was weak and who wasn't.

Reprimanding himself mentally for standing like a statue and wasting precious time, he scrambled to the nearest classroom and dived through the door, hoping that nobody was inside. Thankfully, it was empty and he pushed the door shut, looking around. His eyes were wild, fear radiating off of his body in almost palpable waves as he struggled to find a quick solution to his problems. And then he did. He rushed to the teacher's desk, hiding beneath it, his hand momentarily reaching out to pause the spinning chair from its erratic movements. An echoing sound of the door being harshly thrown open filled the room, and Jisung made himself as small and silent as possible in fear that somebody had seen him. His arms wrapped around his knees, clutching onto his shirt, while the rest of his body curled in on itself and his bag pressed against the inside of the desk. He quivered, breaths shaky and raggedly unstable

The basketball team was filled with bullies and victims, a sight that could easily be seen in many games by the eye of an observer. Han Jisung was an observer. Han Jisung saw it all. Han Jisung knew. He'd seen the rough shoves in games, shoves that were nowhere near friendly. He'd seen the desperate pleads for the ball, ignored despite it costing game after game. And he'd seen the shoves, and the kicks; heard the words and the sobs. 

"You never learn, huh?" A voice scoffed, dripping with venom and sending a thousand shivers rushing up Jisung's spine uncomfortably. It was cold, cruel and devoid of any sympathy or any feeling the was even remotely _humane_.

"You don't fucking take the ball, moron. You leave it to us, understand?" Another voice sneered. He sounded smug, as though he basked in the fact that he was in _control_ and nothing was holding him back any longer.

"But Coach said- aah!" 

The sentence swiftly morphed into an ear-splitting shriek that was almost immediately cut short. The sound seemed to be derived from a horror movie, hauntingly echoing and ringing in Jisung's ears as he helplessly muffled a whimper in the sleeve of his school jacket. His body quivered like a feeble leaf against the wind, hoping and wishing that he wouldn't give himself away and become another victim to their crimes.

"Keep it down!" Hissed the second person. 

"Does it look like we care what Coach says?" Growled the first. He sounded animalistic and furious. Jisung felt terrified, despite the words not being directed at him.

Silence followed filled with thick tension. Shivers ran up Jisung spine as he began to break into a sweat in fear for himself and the victim. His body stiffened and he didn't dare move although his legs and feet began to ache from their crouched position, and his shoulder began to cramp in an uncomfortable manner. He hated that he didn't have the courage. He hated that he was so driven by fear that he couldn't help. He hated that all he could do was listen to the deafening silence, helplessly.

And then it was broken by the sound of a chair harshly slamming against the table. A resonating clang of the metal leg and the back of the chair.

"Did you just fucking kick me?" The second person spat, his voice threatening and low, yet fully audible throughout the room.

There was a quiet thump, followed by whimpers and quiet pleas.

"St- st- stop i- i- it. S- s-"

He gasped out each letter and word, as though it was becoming increasingly harder for him to breathe. These ragged gasps were swiftly replaced by muffled cries for help, before they came to a halt, followed by a thump. Then a sniffle.

"Pathetic." It was a heartless sneer with no semblance of sympathy or real pity.

"You grab his legs, I'll take his arms."

"No.." The voice was weak and sounded degraded. He was giving up. He was losing hope. They always did. They, the unfortunate ones, almost always succumbed. Jisung knew from experience. Because that was just how it was. The strong preyed on the weak, fueling their desire and greed for power. They had no regard for anyone but themselves.

There was a harsh slapping sound. Then, a shuffling noise. The door was yanked open with a horrifying screech, only to be slammed shut with an aggressive force of frustration and pent up rage.

The sound resonated through the classroom.

Five minutes later, the sound still rang in Han Jisung's ears.


	2. Chapter 2

When he had finally regained pitiful slivers of courage, Han Jisung crawled out from under the teacher's desk and pulled himself shakily to his feet. He dusted himself down, warily glancing around him, paranoid that someone would burst into the classroom and peg him as their next victim. Knowing his luck, he didn't dare risk anything.

He was unsure of the time he'd spent beneath the desk since the three had left, but he knew that if he wanted to use a music room, he had to leave immediately. Hopefully, he mentally prayed, Minho had long since left with Hyunjin and the school could finally be deemed safe enough. Straightening his uniform out, yet again, he stuck his head out of the doorway, glancing in both directions.

The hallway was empty.

He sighed in relief, the anxiety within depleting. Nonetheless, he knew he would still have to keep up his guard; letting it down would be a big mistake. Jisung wasn't sure he could afford to face the consequences. His body was still tired, sore from the fading bruises that had been dealt earlier in the week, and maintained through minor kicks and jabs between lessons more recently. Thankfully, for a record of four days (including this day) Jisung had managed to evade Lee Minho and thus had met an easier outcome of the bullying problem. He only prayed he could maintain his momentum, but his instincts knew otherwise: Minho would be on the lookout for him and he was probably going to be angrier than ever.

Cautiously walking down to the music room, he kept on high alert, eyes flickered everywhere. Thankfully, the coast was clear yet again and he let his shoulders relax from their previously tense form, relaxing his muscles with a roll of his shoulders.

He slipped into an empty music room and closed the door silently. Pulling out the stool, he sat at the piano, his bag still on his back, as he brushed his fingertips over the smooth, plastic keys. His eyes found the correct notes, his hand following almost immediately as he began to play from memory. It was a simple, easy tune, so it had been easy to remember, and now it was an easy way to warm up his fingers. When he'd finished, he pulled out his phone, flicking around his camera roll until he found the notes, before placing his phone on the sheet stand. Slowly he began to play. The first section was easy since he had played it enough times to do it without looking, thus his fingers gracefully flew bringing the beautiful melody, though as he began to near the second section, he began to glance more at his phone as he slowed to an easy pace. This was the part he was learning; the part he would need to take some time to master.

As he focused, his mind flowed with ease and contentment. He was in his element, happiness rushing through his senses as he focused attentively. This was his passion; here he thrived; here he was happiest. This was his escape.

Alas, the serenity was shattered with the abrupt sound of the door being yanked open and banging forcefully against the wall. Jisung's fingers halted and his head whipped around in shock. Shock, that almost immediately turned into horror. Lee Minho stood in the doorway with a taunting smirk on his face.

"So, you play the piano?" The older scoffed mockingly, his words half laughed out.

Jisung wanted to retaliate and yell about how Minho would sing, but he stopped himself. It would have only dragged him further into a mess he already lacked control over. Instead, he opted to grab his phone and stuff it back into his pocket as he rose from the seat. He stepped away from the doorway, away from Minho and looked the elder in the eyes. He refused to completely and blatantly cower into a corner; he had enough dignity to cling onto the shreds of his wavering and fraying courage. He would not succumb to Minho for as long as he could help it, despite knowing the outcome would be anything but good for himself.

His fists clenched feebly, palms sweaty.

His eyes met those of Minho's dead on. His resolve shuddered violently in a warning. This was not good. This would not end well. It was evident from the very message that Minho conveyed through his eyes. Minho, although looking smug, held a harsh glare onto the younger. A glare full of vicious rage and contempt frustration. Somebody must have ticked him off and escaped, yet it only meant that Han Jisung may not mentally survive till the next day. Or even survive in any form at all.

Minho stormed forwards, grabbing Jisung by the collar.

"You're a pussy, you know? Playing the piano." He let out a burst of harsh laughter. Often, Jisung had realised, that a bully's words were often words to themselves; self-hatred and frustration targetted towards the next unfortunate victim.

"Playing the piano doesn't make-"

"Does it look like I care?" Minho's voice switched suddenly causing Jisung's need to escape to increase. It was emotionless, though conveyed every emotion he felt. Minho was not in any mood for games. He was not in the mood for mercy. Han Jisung was dead meat.

Frantically, he shoved Minho backwards as hard as he possibly could. In a sudden state of shock, the older let go of Jisung's collar as he stumbled, and Jisung took the chance and bolted. Desperation fueled his steps, fear boosting his energy as he fled like a feeble prey from it's cunning and hungry predator. Danger always pushed one to move faster; to act on instinct - quicker.

However, Minho was swift to get back on his feet and far more faster at running. He tackled Jisung to the ground, both falling heavily, but being on the top gave him the advantage to stand once again. Pulling Jisung up by his bag, he yanked it off him, throwing it to the side, before shoving Jisung into the lockers.

The locks dug uncomfortably at his back and he struggled to regain his footing. And yet, he hadn't the chance for a hand wrapped around his throat swiftly, pushing the petite body upwards until he was struggling for air, his feet mere centimetres above the ground. And yet, those centimetres felt like miles.

"Leave... me... a- lone." He managed, yet it came out weakly and unhelpful; wheezed out in sheer desperation.

"Pathetic." Minho spat. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

Jisung's hand tugged at the older's shirt helplessly as he struggled to breathe. His face began to turn red, contorting, and that was when Minho let him go.

His figure immediately collapsed - legs weak and lungs burning. And yet, this alone didn't appear to satisfy the older, who sent a sharp and powerful kick into his stomach. Jisung doubled over, palms slapping harshly against the tiles painfully, and the moment he did, Minho pushed him back up, his hand gripping the younger's chin. His head slammed into the locker with a resonating clatter as his eyes fought to observed Minho's face. 

The angry expression was shifted easily to an innocent and equally as fear-inducing one. Jisung clutched his stomach not daring open his mouth to express the pain. Minho ran one hand through Jisung's hair, and knowing what came next, Jisung squeezed his eyes shut tight in dreadful anticipation, desperate pleading tears escaping the corners of his eyes. He'd always been a quick crier.

True to the expectation, Minho harshly yanked the other's hair, tilting Jisung's whole head against his will. Jisung gritted his teeth together, his hands moving from his stomach towards his hair when Minho suddenly pushed him down to kneed him in the stomach, eliciting a wail of pain. Releasing Jisung's hair, Minho shoved the boy carelessly to the ground again, where he almost collapsed in minuscule relief. Minho lifted his foot and tilted Jisung's head up with his shoe, before firmly placing his shoe against the younger's neck and soiling the top of his shirt. Having lost any energy he may have had, he struggled to push away Minho's seemingly immovable shoe.

Minho stared at him, scoffing lightly.

"Look at yourself. You're so weak. You can't even fight back."

He removed his shoe, suddenly walking away, leaving Jisung sprawled on the floor, head tilted against the lockers.

He struggled to stand, but managed, slowly making his way to the exit. Something seemed odd, weird even, as he pulled on his bag again. And then he froze, suddenly seeing Minho waiting for him. It had simply ended up being another game of cat and mouse. And just like the fool he was, Jisung had fallen for it. Again.

Turning in the other direction, he stumbled, only to be yanked backwards and shoved into the dark surroundings of what he assumed was the janitor's closet. He blindly fumbled for the door, knocking down items off shelves in the process. Something clunked against his head, another set of something clattering somewhere as he flailed in a panicked daze.

He didn't like that he couldn't see. He didn't like how he was trapped. he didn't like the way his chest seemed to contract; the way his lungs wheezed for the air. He _loathed_ the way he was a gasping fish out of water. Panic was absorbed into his body; into his system. He gasped and gasped for air, hating the stuffed atmosphere and rising temperature.

His hands flung outwards, desperate in a search for the door; for escape; for freedom. Upon finding the door, he slammed his palms against it relentlessly.

"Let me out!" His voice was shrill, terror evident.

He received a muffled scoff in response.

Finding the handle, he pulled it down, only for it to push up once again. Yanking it down didn't help, for Minho was stronger than him. The smooth, cool handle slipped out of his grasp painfully.

"Let me out!" He screamed again.

"Call me hyung."

There was no way he was doing that. The other, although older, didn't deserve that title.

He slammed his fists against the door, screeching in frustration.

"Let me out!" He yelled once again as he felt tears begin to slip down his cheeks. The suffocating feeling heightened.

He screamed, he yanked at the handle, he pounded against the door, spending out all his precious energy.

"You know what you have to say,"

He choked out his next words like poison.  
"Please, hyung."

Immediately, the door opened and Jisung collapsed to the ground, cheeks tear-stained, hair everywhere and eyes devoid of life. He gasped for the fresh air, basking himself in the sudden coolness as he weakly allowed Minho to pull off his school bag.

"That wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

He hated it. He hated it all. The way the older pretended so hard. Acting like they were friends. As though they weren't a bully and victim. As though he didn't make it a frequent to slam other into lockers and walls, and leave the younger with bruises and tears. As though he didn't tear the younger down to shreds with his jeering.

So Jisung didn't reply. He knew what was going to happen next, or rather where he was going. It always happened on the occasions that Minho didn't drop Hyunjin off. While he didn't want to cooperate, he knew he didn't have much of a choice. It wasn't like he had any energy left to fight with anyways.

Minho yanked him to his feet and began to drag him out of the school building.

A sleek car waited for them, the driver looking bored and emotionless. The door was opened and the driver ignored Jisung's slumped and tired form. 

It wasn't the first time Han Jisung had been flung into the passenger seat.


End file.
